DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To Demeter94[at]yahoo.de

This is going to be the last time. Ever. She keeps telling that herself. Lindsay knows she'll stick to it, because she's never broken a promise to herself. A week from now it is supposed to be the happiest day of her life, regardless of the fact that the here and now presents a considerable competition.

She's moved her mouth from the younger woman's tempting lips to her neck, tasting warm skin, her actions being met with appreciative sounds. Lindsay smiles. Everything in her life is going the way she has planned it, no detours, just for tonight she wanted to be someone else, and that works out perfectly too. "You taste so good," she whispers, feeling her shiver under her hands. She's got a few more clichés to unpack from her repertoire. She inhales deeply, straightening to run her hands once again through thick rusty-red strands smelling faintly of strawberries, brushing her fingers over flushed cheeks.

"Thanks. I guess."

The hesitant reaction amuses her. "Can I taste... more of you?"

God, she's beautiful. Breathtakingly so, which might be another cliché, but it is true with her, and while Lindsay might have strayed from the plan before, none of those women has made her this weak with want.

"I'm not into bondage on the first night, if you planned to use those cuffs, but short of that you can do pretty much whatever you want to."

Trust her to use an abundance of words even now. The implications of them are enough to make Lindsay slightly dizzy, and she knows even if she hadn't made that decision, she can never see her again.

She runs her hand down the other woman's chest, fingers gently exploring, stealing underneath the half-open shirt. Stopping cold all of a sudden. "You are over eighteen, right?"

The woman shakes with laughter in her arms. "You are asking me that now?Hell, yes, I am. At what age do you think I started college?"

"Well, you seem pretty smart to me."

Cindy Thomas came to see her this morning, because she's writing an article for some feminist college paper on women in law enforcement. Lindsay had known when she walked through the door of the office the department had provided for the project, that Cindy would be the one to end all doubts and insecurities. The last sidestep before she went back to the plan, and what a memorable one.

"You're doing well with this flattery thing," Cindy says, "but could we get back to--?"

"I'm getting married in a week." Lindsay doesn't know why she is doing this, robbing herself of ever making the fantasy that has gotten hold of her since the morning, coming true.

To her surprise and relief, Cindy doesn't try to run or even resist as Lindsay pulls her close again, but she does ask, "Your fiance, is he a jerk?" Behind her question are a dozen other others. She sounds worried now, sympathetic, getting the completely wrong idea.

"No." Lindsay sighs which is both an answer to the question and a statement of how good it feels to finally have free reign, hands exploring skin underneath the fabric of Cindy's shirt. "He's a good guy."

"I see," Cindy gasps. "That is why we are here."

Lindsay sees no reason to argue with her; she's pretty happy to resume her explorations, eventually lifting the younger woman's skirt, no more distractions now.

"You are so very sure of yourself." Cindy shakes her head, but she's pressing closer; it's no surprise for Lindsay to find her warm, wet and open for the attention of her curious fingers.

I am, and I have reason to be, right? There's no need to say it out loud as it's so obviously true.

The rhythm comes to her easily, experience accumulated over the past few months as well as motivation. She wants her to remember, every single moment even when their time will be long gone and, Lindsay ruefully thinks, Cindy will find someone her age.

Which shouldn't faze her anyway, because she was going to be the wife of a good man, leading the life she wanted to. If only... She pushes those thoughts aside, concentrating on the feel of Cindy's body completely at her mercy. "And you like that, don't you?"

"I guess it's because I really like... you," Cindy admits, breathless on the last word, her eyes fluttering shut as pleasure takes her over.

"I want a family," Lindsay tells her later as they are lying together, limbs entwined, skin to skin. It sounds like a valid excuse, and why would she need excuses right anyway? None of the other woman expected them.

None of them had her nearly in tears with the intensity of this... Goddamn... feeling.

She couldn't have known earlier when this girl walked into the office they'd met in for the interview. She'd wanted her so badly she could hardly think straight, pardon the not so clever pun.

"Seems like you always get what you want," Cindy observes, matter-of-factly, without a hint of spite.

"I get lucky sometimes," she agrees which makes them both laugh.

"I haven't really thought about any of this," Cindy continues, thoughtfully. "I want to make a difference. And I want to fall in love, be with the person where you know, this is it. Then I might think about children."

Lindsay smiles a little, remembering that at her age, she hadn't thought about children either.

"Sure." Cindy leans closer, resting her head on her chest, and Lindsay wraps her arms around her tighter. It's a stolen moment out of the timeline and reality of her life, so she can talk about this like in theory. Once she goes back, her one-night-stand with this much younger woman will be nothing but a pleasant daydream.

"If you change your mind, you could always come find me. You being a cop and all."

I'll keep that in mind. Lindsay bit her lip before the words could carelessly tumble out. There was no future fantasy for the two of them, only the present moment.

"We're here now," she reminds her. Cindy smiles, slowly drawing back the sheet, the appreciative gaze making her shiver in anticipation.

This is going to be the last time. Ever. Lindsay knows she'll stick to it, because she's never broken a promise to herself. At least, she also knows every moment will be worth her while, that, and there's a door that's being left ajar.